


poor children, red soaked and darling

by Cactus_Is_Trash



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Arthur-centric, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Childhood Trauma, Crying, Dramatic Irony, Feels, Forests, Gen, Hurt Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Hurt/Comfort, Manhandling, Minor Character Death, Oblivious Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Parallels, Prince Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), The Author Regrets Nothing, Uther Pendragon's A+ Parenting (Merlin), Vomiting, Whumptober, Whumptober day 11, he's seven years old in this, i am unreasonably mean to a seven year old in this, just some knights and servants, merlin isn't in this but i think he's there in spirit, only the slightest bit of comfort though, sort of character study, young arthur pendragon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:02:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26946397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cactus_Is_Trash/pseuds/Cactus_Is_Trash
Summary: For no noticeable reason, Arthur suddenly felt a cold shiver run down his spine. The hairs on the back of his neck stood to attention. The young prince put his bowl down slowly and turned his gaze to the trees. Something was wrong.Even with the moon so bright, it took Arthur far too long to spot the hand. He would later hate himself for it.“Sir K-“Before Arthur could even try to alert the first knight, the bandits made their move.After a month in Camelot alone, a young Arthur Pendragon is finally issued on a trip to meet his father in Nemeth at the end of a peace deal. But even with his father's knights at his side, a surprise bandit attack does not leave him unshaken.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	poor children, red soaked and darling

**Author's Note:**

> Heyo! I know I haven't even done the rest of whumptober, but this prompt really took me and I had to write for it! I've always wanted to explore something from Arthur's childhood and I thought this was the perfect opportunity! I hope you guys enjoy! Massive thank you to Icabyppup for betaing and screaming at me!

“- and then Sir Elric gutted the man in one fell swoop, blade slicing cleaner than a physician's scalpel-“

“You flatter the man too much, Thaddeus,” Sir Hamon’s horse sped briefly to trot alongside the group at the front, “Prince Arthur might be disappointed when he meets him in person.” 

Arthur’s wide and adoring eyes quickly narrowed in annoyance as he puffed out his small chest. It was obviously a poor approximation of a knight squaring his shoulders. 

“I won’t,” the small prince said decisively. “Lord Elric is going to teach  _ me _ how to fight like that and then I’ll be the best knight in Camelot.”

Sir Hamon smiled, “Is he now?’”

Arthur couldn’t tell if the man was excited for him or thinking him a fool. So he did what he always did when he couldn’t tell someone’s intentions. He squinted his eyes like his father and levelled the man with a defiant glare.

“He  _ is _ ,” the young prince said firmly. 

“Are you sure you should be telling him such gruesome stories, Thaddeus?” 

The voice was a new one amongst the traveling knights. Arthur was surprised to see one of the servants had guided his horse up to Thaddeus. Arthur thought the man may have looked familiar, but he hardly paid attention to the servants enough to tell. He scrunched his nose in distaste. 

“Lighten up Aurelius,” Thaddeus grinned, “the boy’s set to become first knight by the time he’s seventeen. Has to learn about battle somehow.” 

The servant shot his… master (?) an uncertain look over the prince’s head. 

“I know all about battle,” Arthur insisted crossly. He didn’t like the knights talking as if he wasn’t there. He’d be their superior one day. They had to get used to letting him in on the conversation or he’d simply order it when he could. And he could hardly let a servant talk over him. What did he know?

“You’re seven summers, sire,” Sir Hamon snorted, “you’ve seen all the bloodshed of a flower garden.”

“Have not,” Arthur spat. “I’ve been hunting since I was four!”

“Killing a beast is hardly killing a man,” the servant said softly, almost placatingly. 

The servant was stupid, Arthur decided. Of course killing a man would be the same as killing an animal. A bit more difficult, surely, but a blade to the heart was the same no matter what heart it was going into. If the man didn’t understand that then he’d have to talk to his father about the people he let serve Camelot’s warriors. He would make a note to order him to the stocks when they got back.

“And he’ll have plenty of time to figure it out,” Sir Thaddeus smiled, linking his hand with the servant. 

Arthur’s eye brows drew in confusion at the gesture. Although he knew Thaddeus was talking about him, he couldn’t help but feel the words were more for Aurelius’ benefit than his defence. It was unbearably weak of him to cover up for his servant that way, but Arthur supposed he was only looking after those less than himself. Maybe Thaddeus would be able to set the servant straight before Arthur needed to tell his father about his ineptitude.

Sir Hamon rolled his eyes at the pair and lent down conspiratorially to Arthur’s ear, “Listen to them, it’s like they’re already married with two youngins.”

Arthur nodded solemnly, although he had no idea what Hamon was talking about.

“I take it you're excited to meet Lord Elric and see your father again?” Hamon said. 

Arthur nodded vigorously. He hadn’t seen his father for a month. It wasn’t often that Arthur was taken to join him in meeting their allies. He considered it a sign of his father’s trust that he was allowed to meet him in Nemeth.

“Alright,” from further ahead, his father’s first knight held a hand up to signal a stop, “we make camp here. We should reach Nemeth by tomorrow’s sunset.”

Arthur frowned, but got off his horse like he was told. The jump to the ground sent a jolt up his legs, but he hadn’t stumbled on it since he was little. He took his horse by the reins and tied it to a tree just as the other knights did. He did the knot expertly. He did not fumble because his hands were small and the rope was thick. Not at all. He’d been training as a page since he was four, he knew exactly what he was doing. 

Arthur waited with his horse as the knights and servants set up the camp. He was the prince, he didn’t need to collect firewood or set up a tent. All he needed to do was watch the yellow glow of the sun turn red as his shirt. 

Arthur didn’t like the night. He wasn’t allowed to do much. He couldn’t train, he couldn’t ride, he couldn’t hunt. Not unless someone was with him, and everyone was usually asleep. He could barely see at night without a candle, and even then a candle made you a far easier target in the dark. On camps and expeditions though, there was always someone awake to take watch. Always a fire burning bright in the centre of knights. 

In the middle of the woods, the moon was impossibly bright. Arthur could see perfectly well even without the fire to guide him. The silver light glinting off the knight’s chainmail created bright spots on the floor. It was a nice night.

Dinner was a simple stew. It wasn’t as nice as his usual supper, but there was nothing else to eat. He had come to expect such things from days in the woods. The last time he had complained, his father had given him a lecture about how childish it was of him. A knight had to learn to endure anything. Including a bad supper.

Arthur screwed up his face in thought and confusion as he watched Sir Thaddeus and his servant. It was strange. He’d been on many journeys with Thaddeus, yet never had he noticed his servant sit so close. Or laugh so familiarly with him. It was completely indecent. Possibly the man was simple and Thaddeus was being kind. 

Arthur stuffed his spoon in his mouth and tried not to think about it as he sat alone on his log. He would have a word to the knight in private later. 

For no noticeable reason, Arthur suddenly felt a cold shiver run down his spine. The hairs on the back of his neck stood to attention. The young prince put his bowl down slowly and turned his gaze to the trees. Something was wrong.

Even with the moon so bright, it took Arthur far too long to spot the hand. He would later hate himself for it.

“Sir K-“

Before Arthur could even try to alert the first knight, the bandits made their move.

Scores of grubby men with wickedly sharp blades ran from all sides of the camp. In bright flashes of steel and leather, the two sides clashed in practised anarchy. The sound assaulted Arthur’s ears as the once peaceful silence turned to a symphony of battle. 

Arthur felt a strong hand latch onto the back of his shirt and the cold rush down his body sent his nails into the flesh of the attacker. Too late, Arthur realised the surprised yell was from Hamon as he dragged the prince out of the line of fire and into the tree line away from he action. 

The knight hissed as he shook out his hand and kneeled to look Arthur in the face, “ _ Stay here _ ,” he shouted quickly and ran back again.

Arthur’s hands gripped his training sword tightly as he tried to follow orders. He could see more than any knight from his place behind the bark of a tree. He was safe enough, no bandit could take their eyes off the knights without being run through. Yet the longer he watched the choreographed dance of destruction in front of him, the more restless he became. How could he stand there in good faith as blood stained Camelot chainmail? What would his father think of his son hiding behind a tree like a coward? Arthur couldn’t let himself become a coward. A coward son wasn’t a good enough trade for his mother’s life. If he couldn’t be useful then he was a waste. He couldn’t do that to his father.

Arthur crouched lower and set his sword in place. He watched the blurring bodies and blood stained swords, refusing to glance at faces or pick out screams. Finally, a bandit back was turned to him without the slightest hit of defence.

Arthur knew his sword wasn’t sharp or long enough to gut the man, but-

The small prince ran as fast as he could and hacked his sword with as much force as he could at the back of the bandit’s knee. The man screamed and the knight sent a stunned look over at Arthur’s blond head. He could see the pink skin peeling away for red mush and white bone, and was vividly reminded of the first rabbit he ever skinned.

The prince wrenched the sword out of the shredded flesh, arms drooping with the effort. Before he could say a word, a harsh spray of blood exploded from the knee and into his eyes and mouth. 

Arthur jerked back and shouted his surprise. It was a grave mistake, as red congealed on his tongue and forced his eyes closed. The iron smell and taste became a part of Arthur, coated over him like a second skin. The thick liquid far too warm to pretend to be rain. 

The prince swiped at his eyes furiously, and blinked them open to a blurry world. His salty tears cut trails in the red war paint, but his spit hardly meant a dent in the taste of another man's death. The hacking coughs came from a place far deeper in his chest than a simple sickness and hurt far worse. 

Maybe he could have pretended it was warm honey. Maybe, if not for the blinding knowledge that his mouth was coated in someone else's hot, sticky blood.

Soon he was on his knees and rushing up from his bowls was the acidic remains of his stew. Chunks of rabbit and the slick of burning broth grated at his throat and splashed to the grassy floor. Through tearful eyes, Arthur could make out the pink tint given by the red on his tongue. He could hardly hear the pathetic sob he gave through the sounds of battle still raging.

He could barely breathe. It was as if the stew had stolen all his air on the way up. Each breath of it felt flaming and restricted like a fiery hand clutching at his lungs. 

Arthur pressed the cleanest part of his sleeves to his streaming eyes to try to clear them enough to see. His elbow was already coated in bile and snot so wet it was darker than the pools of blood dripping down his face. With wet eyes he tried to catch a glimpse of the battle, but all he could find was the brown patched boots of a bandit.

His small shoulders shook with exhaustion and fear as his eyes finally caught on to the motion of a blade above his head. The bandit’s dirty face brightened with victory as the sword swung.

Before the silver death could catch his frame, Arthur felt a body cover his, arms wrapping tight around his build. For a second, Arthur was encapsulated in a shielding hug, his ear pressed close to a scratchy shirt. The next, a jolt sent the both of them rocking and Arthur screamed. 

“ _ AURELIUS _ ,” someone cried over the sound of clashing steel.

Sticky rain dripped onto his hair as the gurgling of a dead man echoed in his ears. The bandit’s blade wrenched itself from his saviours neck and suddenly dropped to the floor.

The body above him was ripped away and Arthur was left to the cold air as it hardened the fresh gore on his face. Through fuzzy eyes Arthur stared as Sir Thaddeus wept over his servant. The knight cradled the dead man with all the reverence and desperation a widow clung to her husband. Arthur could make out some babbling promises, but mostly only the roaring in his ears. 

From behind the pair, a dark figure emerged, cutlass shining wickedly in hand.

Arthur made a raspy noise of warning, but wasn’t enough to alert the knight.

“ _ Thaddeus! _ ” His mouth fit around the name as best it could.

The knight paid him no attention, too far absorbed in his grief.

The figure approached further.

As he shook, a leaf in a thunderstorm, Arthur felt a familiar hand latch onto his shoulders. It was as if something had snapped in him at the touch and suddenly he was struggling.

His weak arms flailed around and his legs kicked as hard as they could. 

From his tortured throat a scream, “ _ THADDEUS _ !”

He elbowed the man behind and continued to thrash as if he were griped by hideous nightmares. The hands forgot his shoulders and squeezed his waist, lifting him above the floor. Arthur kicked harder.

“LET GO OF ME!” He screamed. 

“ _ THADDEUS! _ ” he cried and kicked and screamed and thrashed.

Finally, the knight looked up from his servant and found Arthur’s eyes. Anguish flooded his cheeks like a waterfall and agony etched itself into every crease on his face. 

“BEHIND YOU!”

Thaddeus’ eyes widened in horror and his face turned, only to meet the harsh slam of a blade into the side of his head.

“ _ THADDEUS!” _

Arthur sobbed and clawed at the arms holding him up and dragging him back. He was far too small and far too light at seven summers to even dream of truly fighting back.

“I’m sorry, sire,  _ we need to go, _ ” Hamon yelled over his crying.

Arthur gripped the arms and watched as the knight’s body slumped over onto his servant’s. The eye on the ripped side of his face had exploded. He looked like the picture of death, his skull shining through the red. Then Arthur was turned away and he never saw Thaddeus or Aurelius again.

* * *

Arthur sat placidly as the rag made its way over his cheek. The repetitive motion of cool water scrubbing gently over his skin seemed to lull the atmosphere beside the river. Every so often the rag would leave and rid itself of blood in the stream. Sometimes a hand would lightly tilt his head to one side or the other.

Eventually, much of his face was clean. 

“Why did Thaddeus do that?”

Sir Hamon stopped the rag and met his gaze, “Do what?”

“He stopped fighting,” Arthur said. “He should be alive.”

Hamon’s gaze darkened slightly as he got back to work with his fabric strip, “He was an idiot.”

Arthur frowned slightly, “You shouldn’t say that.”

“You’re right…” Hamon sighed. “I’m sorry.”

Hamon continued in silence. The water dripped down Arthur’s neck and pooled on his collar.

“He was upset,” Hamon said, “and… well when you’re watching someone you love die, it’s hard to raise a sword for some people.”

“Why?”

Hamon cringed slightly, “When people are- um- challenged- some will take up a sword, some will get away, and some will be rooted to the spot.”

Arthur lent into the hand stilling his face as the blood was scrubbed from his forehead. 

“As a knight, you will be taught to pick up a sword in battle, and when your friends are falling around you, you will swing it. But it’s different when your friend is… I don’t think I’m explaining this very well.”

Arthur shook his head.

Hamon sighed, “The point is, sire, when bad things happen, people react differently. Thaddeus was too- sad- to think about his sword. It cost him his life.”

“Oh,” Arthur said softly. He wrapped his arms tighter around his knees.

“I’m sorry you had to see that, sire,” Hamon finally said.

“It’s alright,” Arthur said. 

“It will be,” Hamon said. “One day you’ll be the best knight of any of us. You’ll never need to worry about any servant of yours getting hurt because you’ll be good enough to keep the both of you safe.”

Arthur nodded, “I know.”

Hamon smiled slightly, “Good.”

The knight handed Arthur some clothes and nodded for him to re-dress. With Hamon’s back to him, Arthur left his blood-crusted attire and got in fresh linens. 

“Alright,” Hamon led him back to the new camp, “time for bed, sire.”

Arthur nodded and got in his bed roll. He fell asleep as soon as his eyes closed.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please let me know what you think in the comments below! Did you like it? Enjoy the original knights? Found a spelling error? Want to scream at me? Need me to add a tag? All is welcome!


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